


Strike a Chord with the Devil

by simeonsaysobeyme



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Black Reader, Blow Jobs, Blues, Bratting, Cunnilingus, Double Penetration, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Grinding, Musicians, Mutual Masturbation, Other, POV Second Person, Pegging, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Public Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, handjob, more sex stuff will probably be added this is just what i have planned so far, no beta we will never die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simeonsaysobeyme/pseuds/simeonsaysobeyme
Summary: You're a Blues Singer that's been traveling around the States singing in shit holes. Despite the venues, you know you've always had a gift for drawing people in on your dinged-up cigar box guitar and with your smoky vocals. Its in at one of these shows that you meet Asmodeus, who becomes one of your biggest patrons.A wish gone wrong takes you to the Devildom itself, where you attract the delight of Simeon and the ire of Lucifer, who believes the only way a human could achieve such music is by striking a famous crossroads deal. But as rumor of your musical gift and intimate encounters spread, along with your influence, you find that music is as much of a divider as it is a unifier.
Relationships: Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Asmodeus/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Asmodeus/Main Character/Simeon (Shall We Date? Obey Me!), Lucifer/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Main Character/Simeon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Simeon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 62
Kudos: 164





	1. Liminal Spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MC is playing at venues and encounters a beautiful and curious stranger who takes them home for the night.

You know yourself best when your fingers are moving. 

There’s no surprises, no question as they dance up and down the fret of the cigar-box guitar, the music soaring out to the small crowd of people. It’s always a small crowd of people, whether you’re singing Alvin Youngblood Hart, Skip James, or Billie Holliday, it’s never a large crowd when it comes to the blues. But that’s not why you play.

Your long and heavy box braids are swept to the side - your one vanity - as you romance the people in the room with your music. Everything else you give up in the name of music, if you need to. Your nails are cut aggressively like all the best classical guitarists, and your clothes are modest and thrifted. Even your guitar has seen better days but you lovingly polish it, tune, and scrape together to keep a bevy of fresh strings available.

In the swampy backwater bar that’s more shack than establishment, you sing your heart out. A throaty voice, washes over people, who take a break from their problems and poisons to look up and watch you. You know you might not seem like much - average height and dark skin blending into the lazy bayou night. 

The weather is humid and sweat slicks your skin as you play a set you’ve long since had memorized. The crowd is what you usually see. Locals here for the cheap beer and casual atmosphere. But there’s one man who catches your eye, who doesn’t blend in at all.

Amongst the trucker hats and overalls, the flannel and worn-out denim of a typical southern clientele, you see him. He’s fair-skinned but doesn’t look white - or at least you think. His longish light brown hair is swept to the side and he watches you with eerie golden-red eyes that look like a good whisky.

His shirt was crisp even in the slick air, some expensive looking white thing. The scarf so casually tossed on his shoulder also looked like a fine cashmere. You never could wear that in this heat. But you play out to him in particular. When you finish your set he raises a glass to you, amidst the smattered applause. 

And just like that, your hold on people is forgotten. They go back to nursing their drinks, a few disappointing dollars being dropped into a tin. You sigh and grab it when it makes its way back to you. $33.85. Barely enough for a bite of fast food and a gas of tank to the next location. Still, you deserve a respite and order a whisky sour. 

“That was the best music I’ve ever heard,” comes a voice next to you. It’s smooth and soft. It’s the stranger from across the bar with strange eyes. “How did you learn to perform like that?”

“Practice,” you said, voice deadpan. “And luck.”

“I’ve never heard music like that from a human,” he says. 

Weird turn of phrase aside, you shrug. “Lot of good it did me.”

“Well consider this my thanks,” he said, dropping a bill into your cleaned out coffee can with “TIPS” scrawled across it. 

And just like that he’s gone as quickly as he arrived.

You grab the bill out of the can and find a crisp $100.

* * *

He pops up every so often. Usually on a sleepy night, in some place a man like that didn’t have business being. A truck stop in Texas, a cowboy bar in Montana, a greasy dive bar in Chicago. As you travel around the country playing for anyone who will listen, casting your spell to make people forget their problems - sometimes he listens.

At the end of each night he speaks to you. You’ve never asked him his name - not when he’ll give you anywhere between $200 and $500. Enough to get you by until the next time you’ll see him. He always listens to the music and stares at you. You can feel him across the room now at this hole-in-the-wall in Mississippi. The swamp-bar this time looks out on the marshy Gulf. It’s a devastated town off-season. 

You sing your way into the hearts of these locals - weary people with sun-pocked skin and tired eyes. You’re unsure how you do this - the air is suspended when you play, and this time when your mysterious stranger shows up his eyes shine brighter than normal. You can feel them tracing the exposed skin of your neck, deep brown skin a stark contrast on the simple white tank top, black bra evident underneath, and highwaisted shorts. You play with a stool, your left knee on a foot rest, and wonder what he sees. Does he see your strong brown legs, touching together at the inner thighs? Your worn boots? Or does he see how tired you are?

It’s your own personal spell you weave. Bending notes slightly flat before bringing them up the way you heard your mama sing, toying with the rhythm and rubato. You dance the notes effortlessly and hold your vibrato, only controlled at the end to add richness. All while your fingers dance. 

This time you’re waiting for him when he arrives at the bar, adjusting the flannel tied around your waist. “Hello stranger,” you say. 

“Captivating as ever,” he practically purred at you. “You improve every time.”

“That’s the goal,” you respond, raising your beer up at him. He wrinkles his nose at the smell of it. “Did you like what you heard?”

“Also what I saw,” he replied. It doesn’t escape you how he looks you up and down. You have to admit that you feel like you could snap him in half. But there’s a compelling energy to him. This stranger. He pulls out his wallet and your eyes widen when you see the money he pulls out. $1000. He’s never given you that much. “This is yours. Thank you.”

You tuck it into your bra and he smiles, a warm flush on his face. “I’ve never been so jealous of an unliving object,” he says.

“You could always invite me to your place,” you blurt out before you have the chance to talk yourself out of it.

He’s staying in one of those old Southern homes. Not a plantation, thank the heavens, but still a charming antebellum home, nicer than anything you’ve ever visited before. Probably one of the many AirBnBs gentrifying the place.

He goes to the bar and fixes you a whisky sour, and you’re surprised he remembers it from all those months ago. But you gladly take it, putting your guitar case down and sliding onto the bar stool. You can tell he has expensive taste. It reeks off of him. Also the fact he can hand out money every time you meet.

"What's your name?" You finally ask as he sits close to you. Close enough to smell whatever luxurious perfume he has on.

"Asmodeus," he says.

"That's a stupid name."

He exhales in mock offense as you smile over the rim of your glass. "Is Asmo better?"

“No not particularly,” you reply. “But you have a pretty face so I don’t mind.”

“Of course I have a pretty face,” he said. “I’m a demon of lust.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Of course you are.”

“I mean it,” he said, leaning in, perching his head in his hand. He looks at you with those intense eyes and you have to admit, it’s easy to tell he’s thinking salacious thoughts. But then he looks constipated.

“Are you okay?” You ask in amusement. 

His face relaxes. “Interesting,” he coos. “No matter. You have to tell me how you really became such a good musician.” He reaches for your free hand and brushes his thumb against the pads of your finger. It’s an oddly intimate gesture that shakes you to your core, after years of drifting and finding comfort in quick, dirty encounters with people whose names you only remembered for the night.

You finish the rest of your drink as he continues to hold your hand. “It’s nothing special,” you lie. Your little cigar box guitar is everything to you. “I started playing when I was young and never stopped.”

As you speak he brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing feather light kisses onto it. He spreads your fingers apart and kisses up to the web between your thumb and index finger. Heat flushes your face and pools in your belly as he flicks his tongue out. It’s paper-light, but it may as well be like he’s devouring you.

A tug on your arm brings you forward and he places his lips on yours. It’s slow to start - practiced and sensual. He starts on the corner before moving to cover yours completely. You part the lips, letting him lightly trace his tongue on your bottom lip before kissing it. It doesn’t take much longer for his tongue to move inside your mouth, against your own, his hand tracing down from your shoulder to the small of your back. You stand up so you can lean into him and he takes advantage of the moment to move his hand to your ass and squeeze tight. 

You straddle his leg and he shifts his thigh, so that the apex of yours are flush against it. You can already feel the wetness ruining your panties. There’s no reason this slender, beautiful man should be able to cause this reaction in you but he does, and you grind down against his leg as the kiss turns more passionate. 

“I’m going to break you,” you tease when you finally pull yourself away, but you squirm on his leg.

“I’m stronger than I look,” he teases right back. He runs his hand up your exposed thigh, under your dress, and to the edge of your underwear. You don’t stop him as he reaches under, his fingers massaging your bare ass. You have nothing to be ashamed of.

As if to make his point, he pulls his hand free and then uses both of them to lift you up onto the kitchen bar. You sit up on your elbows to look at him. He’s placed his hands on either of your knees, spreading them apart before brushing them up and down the inside of your thigh. 

“Miss Spell-Weaver,” he murmurs. “I’ve been told I have magic fingers and a silver tongue too.”

“Are you going to talk about it, or are you going to show me?” you shoot back.

At that, he hooks his index fingers around the band of your underwear and pulls it off. You were right - they’re soaked through and he rubs it between his forefinger and thumb. “Exquisite.” He looks at you with those alluring, strange eyes. “I want to keep them.”

You aren’t one to shame kinks so you shrug. “If you earn them.”

His erection is apparent through his slacks, straining against the hem. You wonder how he would fuck - but you don’t have to wait long. He raises the hem of your dress like he’s preparing for a fancy meal, and massages his way up the inside of your legs. You’re so slick that his fingers move up and down the folds of your labia effortlessly. 

You rest flat on your back as he puts his index and middle finger on either side of your clit, rubbing either side up and down in rhythm. The pleasure makes you moan and sigh in pleasure.

“Oh what a beautiful sound,” he hums. Then he places his thumb lightly on your clit and the friction makes you gasp out loud. He continues his steady rhythm, slow, and torturous until you feel your orgasm creeping on. Then, he stops and you sit up to glare at him. He only grins back as he slips two fingers inside you, keeping his thumb insistently pressed against your clit. You’re a mess between your legs, your wetness all over the inside of your upper thighs and completely covering his hand, his other hand reaching up caress your breasts outside of your clothes.

He makes a beckoning motion inside you, finding the gloriously sweet spot and pressure immediately begins to build up in your core. He changes the pressure almost imperceptibly, firmer. The tension inside you breaks all at once and you violently shake. When he finally pulls his hands out, you’re more worn out than you thought possible.

Asmo licks his fingers with a wicked grin. “I’m going to think about this the rest of my life,” he commented. “And I have a very long life.”

“You’re strange,” you reply. “But you are good at that.”

“Of course I am. After all I’m -”

“The Avatar of Lust, I remember.”

“You need me to take care of that?” you ask, motioning to the rather enticing-looking erection making itself known. 

“I find I’m my own best lover,” he said, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. “But may I look at you?”

Intrigued, you nod. He positions one of the barstools in front of your spread-open legs. He unzips his pants and you immediately regret not insisting he fuck you. _It’s always the skinny ones,_ you muse as he frees his particularly nice-looking cock. What you don’t expect is the way he reaches between your legs and rubs your still-wet and still-sensitive vulva, using it to lubricate his hand. 

Asmo watches you intensely as he strokes his cock up and down, slowly at first, his eyes running over your body. His breath hitches as he pumps faster, your pussy out for him to see. He uses his other hand to pull out your now-ruined panties and sniffs deeply. As he does so, his cock twitches and he comes, spilling onto his hands and errant drops on the inside of your still-spread thighs. 

He breathes out. “Thank you,” he says. “For this beautiful night.” You finally sit up, a jolt of sensitivity going through when you squeeze your legs together, the smallest friction against your swollen clit. You also wouldn’t forget this night. 

The two of you take a shower together, clothes discarded on the floor as you lazily kiss, careful not to get your long braids wet. He lets his hands run up and down your bare skin as he washes you, and he has to jerk himself off again when he leans down to capture your pert, brown nipples in his mouth. 

“Tell me one thing,” he says, as the two of you fall into bed naked and sated. He can’t keep his hands off of you, and you feel powerful at the attention. At how wholly he is interested in you. “If you had one wish, what would it be?”

You don’t even have to think about it. “I want to perform and have it mean something,” you respond. “That’s it.”

You fall asleep that night in his arms, his leg pushed between yours and head on your naked chest.

You wake up in the morning in a strange bed. But it isn’t the bed you expected - it’s completely different. A different room. You have silken pajamas on, and you look around in alarm at the strange surroundings. Its a nice room, and in the corner you see your sad bag and more importantly, your cigar box guitar.

There’s a knock on the door as panic begins to seep in. “Come in?” You say, your voice unnaturally high as you try to make sense of everything.

It’s Asmo. “Hello, my darling,” he cooes. “I’ve brought you home.”


	2. Stormy Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Devildom, Asmo argues with Lucifer about you staying. Then you have a hallway tryst with the Avatar of Lust.

Asmo seems more than pleased with himself as he lets himself in to sit on your bed, hand on your thigh. You at least appreciate that the pajamas are familiar, from your belongings. “Do you like your new room?” he asks.

“What the fuck?” is all you manage to say, craning your neck to look around. “Exactly where is home to you?” You brush off his hand and he pouts, but you walk over to where the curtains were. You pull it back and see - something strange. There’s no sky, not really. It has a purplish hue over buildings that look impossible. After realizing you don’t have the capacity to deal with this, you close the curtains. “Explain.”

“My darling,” he says. “I wanted to grant you your wish. This is the Devildom.”

“That means nothing to me,” you say. “I’m about two seconds from strangling you with a guitar string.”

“Well doesn’t that sound like a good time -” he falters as he sees the look in your eyes. He then lets out a dramatic sigh, and explains. Celestial realm. Earth. Devildom. 

You laugh breathlessly. “Hell. I’m in hell. This is great.”

“It really is,” Asmo says with a smile, all sarcasm lost on him. “You wanted to play your music where it would be appreciated - no one will love it like here. We have some of the most exquisite music venues in all the realms.”

“Do I play for tortured screaming souls?”

“Don’t be crass darling. Many demons and witches, and even some warlocks peruse the entertainment district. It's not so different from your home. Besides,” he drifted off as his hand finds its way up your pajama bottom, playing with the hem of your underwear on your hips. “It’s not like you have much to miss.”

_ Ouch _ . But it was true. You didn’t have much waiting for you back home, just some baggage and a string of broken hearts on dusty roads. Some shitty motel rooms where your dreams died. But it was still rude to say it out loud like that. 

This time you don’t push his hand away as it slips under the hem, and you part your legs expectantly, his mouth kissing its way from your shoulder, to your neck, and the corner of your mouth. You’re ready to have him stroke your fears away when there’s another knock on the door. This time, hard.

Asmo pulls back and rolls his eyes when it becomes clear that the knocking isn’t going to stop. “Should I be concerned about this?” you ask. “Well, more concerned than I already am.”

“Please excuse me a moment,” he says, then goes up to your bedroom door. When he opens it, you see another young man at the door. He has a severe face, and you can’t tell if it has to do with his high cheekbones or his small mouth, or the impossibly dark eyes and hair. 

“Lucifer!” Asmo says.

Of course.

“What is this?” he asks, looking over Asmo’s slender shoulder at you. You lean back on your elbows, frankly unimpressed by everything. “What have you done now?” 

“This,” you interjected. “Is a human being. Nice to make your acquaintance Mr. Morningstar,” you say with as dry a voice as possible. You are not going to let these pale motherfuckers throw you for a loop. 

His eyes look you up and down, dark legs on white sheets. Then he turns back to Asmo. “Why is this here.”

“I don’t think it’s fair you get to bring your humans here,” Asmo sniffs. “They’re the best musician I’ve ever heard in my life. All my lifetimes. They should be here serenading us with this music.”

Lucifer arched an eyebrow. “I doubt there’s any music that’s worth -” he wrinkles his nose. “This.”

“Right here,” you mumble. “And I swear on your life I’m the best damn musician you’ve ever heard.”

Now you have his attention. He pushes himself into your room, and he takes up too much space. You don’t like it. It crowds everything and sucks in all the air. So you turn away in disinterest. You won’t be cowed or bullied by some man - demon or not. “I’ve heard the music of the heavens, and hell,” he says. His voice is rich, but it’s no musician’s voice. It is harsh, without any of the lilt or cadence you seek out.

“Heaven must be awfully boring then, no wonder you left,” you counter. “Why don’t I play for you?” You place a finger on your cheek. “Unless of course you’re scared.”

He lets out a dry, barking laugh. “Fine then. Play a ditty for me, if it’s catchy I’ll hum it while I send you back to the human realm.”

It’s not like you particularly want to stay either - but you’ll be damned if someone will swagger in and say that your music isn’t worth anything. That’s what you loved about the small joints you played in along the south. It was always people wary and weary, looking for something to soothe them. And that was something you could provide. Every time. As you slide off the bed to fetch your guitar, you sit on the desk chair.

With a cross of your legs, you start to tune. You make quick work of it - perfect pitch according to your daddy. Asmo sits on the floor by your feet and while you initially think its sweet, it becomes clear he’s also enjoying the way your thighs look crossed in that pajama dress. At least he was easy to understand.

“What should I play about?” you ask him as he leans forward to kiss the outside of your thigh, where the skin dimples and stretches.

“Something beautiful,” Asmo says. 

“There’s many kinds of beauty,” you reply. 

“Loneliness,” Lucifer cuts in. “Sing about that.”

There’s a challenge in his eyes. But loneliness is something you know well, and a darkness in your chest that you keep buckled down with quick wit and a fast-moving lifestyle. But that is for another day. And instead you play.

It’s easy to coax the notes out. The major seconds that are too close for comfort, that claw their way into your ears and latch into your head, giving way to the unfulfilled minor thirds. Music is putty in your fingers and voice, like a physical thing you can give shape to. It’s always been this way. There’s never been a time in your life when it wasn’t this way. 

You wrap your voice around the simple melody, and what should have been a simple chord progression. A simple blues pattern that would become so much more. It was short and sweet - an old Muddy Waters song. But when you finish Asmo is practically purring, and Lucifer’s jaw is tight.

“Did I live up to your expectations?”

He looks away from you. “A word, Asmo?”

Irritation flashes through your entire being as Asmo pouts and follows him out the door. Being nosy, you decide to put an ear to it. You don’t hear them, so you open it and peek into the hallway. 

But you catch a glimpse of Asmo walking into a room. You close the door briefly and open the closet, frustrated to see your clothes aren’t hung up, but there is some sort of uniform. You toss on the skirt and hastily button the shirt, shaking your box braids out to make sure you look presentable.

You duck outside the door and go to where you saw Asmo and Lucifer disappear. The place - a school, apparently - is ornate. You see some other people looking curiously at you. Some  _ very _ attractive men you aren’t entirely sure are human glance your way.

“It’s undeniable,” you hear Asmo saying. “You felt it too.”

“That’s besides the point -”

“Why not allow me this?” Asmo says. You can practically hear the pout on his lips. “It doesn’t hurt you at all. Is it because they’re too beautiful? Most of the humans who try and make deals to come down here aren’t quite like them and -”

“Shut  _ up _ , Asmo,” Lucifer says back. You strain to hear more. 

They argue back and forth until finally you hear a heaving sigh. “There’s something unnatural about them. But they are your responsibility.”

You back away from the door just as Asmo comes out. When he notices you, there’s a sly grin on his face. “Nosy are we?”

You smile. “Thanks for sticking up for me. I think.” You hold your finger up to his face. “I still need to get used to everything but maybe a vacation isn’t such a bad idea.” You pull him into a small side hallway that seems to go nowhere in particular, out of the way of prying eyes.

He reaches forward and bites your finger softly, and you roll your eyes. “I see you working your silver tongue on everyone but me,” you say with your best imitation of his pout, tracing your thumb along Asmo’s bottom lip. He sighs prettily at your touch, his eyes staring intensely into yours. 

“Would you like me to show you?” he murmurs, letting go of your finger.

You already start to squirm at his attention, it’s unfair how sexy he manages to be. The erection beginning to strain in his pants. He traces his own finger from your chin, down your neck and between your breasts. From there his hand moves to the side, a thumb brushing against your nipple and then lightly circling around it. You’re filled with the overwhelming need for him. To be satisfied. “Yes,” you say. Is this what it’s like for others when you play?

“My room is just around the corner -”

“No,” you interrupt. “Here.”

Realization dawns, and he lets out a groan. “Oh you beautiful creature.”

The small nook you’re in is only semi-private. Any RAD student walking by would be able to see you. But that just makes it more exciting. He pinches and rolls your nipple, making a louder moan escape. “Shhhh,” he tells you, and you raise your fist up to your mouth. He kneels down to the ground and reaches under your skirt, pulling your underwear down to your feet. You feel exposed, and that only makes you wetter. He forces your legs apart more, running his fingers up and down your dripping cunt.

Your chest heaves and you can barely stay up right when he replaces his hand with his mouth. The way he licks you, spreading your vulva with his tongue and then deeper still, tracing to your clit, makes you reach for the top of his head and grip his hair. It’s a sin how relentless he is, where anyone can see, where anyone could  _ hear _ . He is not quiet as he sets a steady rhythm, and it is clear he is extremely practiced, even as you are nearly straddling his face to better enjoy his mouth. He raises a hand up, slipping two fingers inside your slick hole as he focuses his mouth on your clit, the flat of his tongue moving up and down, in a maddening tandem with his fingers. 

Through the haze of pleasure you see someone walking by. In his heavy black and red outfit and cape, Lucifer looks ridiculous. Even now you can see that. If he’s shocked by your brazenness, he hides it well. You know you should be ashamed. Back arched, nipples hard, and fingers tangled inAsmo’s light brown hair. But instead you close your eyes. Let him look. Let him see how you have Asmo under you, his fingers inside, all at your pleasure. 

When you come, you push down onto Asmo’s mouth harder, his fingers pumping in and out until the last shiver leaves you. He quickly stands up to kiss you, the slightly salty taste of you on his mouth. You unbuckle his pants so you can help finish him off, spitting into your hand. It’s quick work, and as Asmo kisses and comes in your fingers, you open your eyes. Lucifer’s eyes meet yours and he quickly walks away.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying the fic so far please leave me a kudos or comment! I love hearing from readers!  
> 🤘🏾😤


	3. You Won't Be Satisfied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asmo brings his angel friend to hear you perform, and it seems angels do enjoy watching the going ons of humans, and sometimes more. Asmo is more than willing to help you put on a show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, I did not edit this, I will tomorrow but I'm tired of staring at the screen. Marge_Simpson_Hiding_Face dot jpeg. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr under the same username, simeonsaysobeyme, if you want to connect or make requests!

You let Asmo teach you more about everything, in between all the orgasms he seems to lavish on you. Although you’re staying near him in the “House of Lamentation” (a depressing, strange name), he attends a school of all places. It seems pointless to you, as he’s been alive for centuries, so you opt out of the classes and spend most of your time wandering around, getting to know the city. 

Your boots stomp on the wet ground. It shimmered as if it had just rained, but as far as you knew, the weather barely changed. It was the perfect room temperature for whatever you wanted to wear, and the shops seemed to be inhabited by all manner of strange people you didn’t bother to talk to. Why should you?

You're deeply uninterested in the going ons of the school but the history of the place is interesting enough. Even if you find yourself missing the wail of the cicadas and the dampness of your skin in the southern heat. If Asmo notices he doesn't say anything, and neither do the other demon brothers. They don't look much like brothers other than all sharing the same sickly pale complexion, except for Mammon. He seemed disinterested when he learned you had very little to your name other than your guitar.

It didn't even bother you Asmo was fucking other people - it meant you didn't belong to him either. But you enjoyed the time, especially the way he seemed devoted to tasting every inch of skin on you. "I got you a present," he murmured on one of those exploratory nights. 

"Is it a return ticket?" You tease, swiping his hand away as he reaches for your breast. But it's a half-hearted swipe and he still cups it before squeezing and running his fingers around your hardening nipple. 

"Even better," he boasts, distracted as he stares intensely at your chest. You're laying down on the bed in a thin tank top. He lowers his head over it and pulls your nipple into his mouth through the fabric, lightly dragging his teeth. You gasp as he creates two wet spots on your shirt before backing away, looking at his handiwork. Mouthwork. "I got you a show."

"A show?"

"This weekend." He looks pleased as a peach and there's finally some color on his face. "They needed an opener. I said you would be more than capable."

"That's pretty cool," you say. You're trying to keep the excitement contained, thinking about songs you could play even as Asmo slips a hand under your shirt. It feels good, but not as good as the idea of playing in front of people. As Asmo moves his fingers under your skirt now andbetween your legs lovingly you ask, "How many seats?"

He runs his finger outside your underwear. "Hundred fifty to two hundred. It's a dinner place." When you tilt your head back to sigh, it's not because he's slipped a finger in, already wet from his ministrations. "Is that good my dear?"

You answer by wrapping your legs around his waist.

* * *

The day of the show you wear a simple white dress, a black wide brimmed hat over your box braids to cast a shadow on your face. People don't like to feel music so intense when they can see you. Instead they can focus on how the cotton is starkly contrasted against your deep brown skin and the hat makes your full lips, painted brick red, stand out.

Demon aristocracy flit about, ordering all manner of food that looks unappetizing. The only other humans you see are the exchange students at the school, and some witches and warlocks. You pace in the green room back stairs until it's your turn. People are still eating about and talking. This isn't new to you - you know at people would rather have musicians as background entertainers.

There's only three things you need on stage other than your guitar - a stool, a foot stool, and a microphone. The spotlight is unnecessary but you're grateful for the familiar warmth of it, as you gaze on the largely disinterested crowd. Until you capture Asmo's golden red eyes. He smiles at you. 

Next to him at the table you see the first fellow dark skinned person and it almost throws you off your feet. His hair falls softly around his face, the blue of his eyes standing out. He has a simple white collared shirt on that reaffirms the gorgeous contrast. He looks like sunshine wrapped in sin, and you swallow hard.

As you step to the mic you clear your throat. No guitar for this one, as you grip the old fashioned silver stand. You channel the old greats, repeating their names in your head like a prayer.

"I am a man of constant sorrow / I've seen trouble all my days," you start. The first long note cuts through and people begin to quiet. The traditional Appalachian song was always meant to be heard this way. Maybe on a rolling mountainside in the lonesome country, but without any bells or whistles, your voice trading vibrato and tricks for clarity and intensity.

"I bid farewell to ol' Kentucky / the place where I was born and raised," you say. Your hand creeps up and in your voice you conjure the image in your mind, spinning it for the others. Your life on the road, looking out at the heart of the American South and all its sins. "For six long years I've been in trouble / no pleasure there on earth I found," you wink at Asmo here and he raises his glass in a delicate toast to you.

The music you craft is a spell. The sorrow and loneliness of an outlaw staring down the barrel of a gun. This is a drawling ode to your life as a drifter and when you let go of the final note. There is silence. 

The brown stranger is the first to break it with enthusiastic clapping, quickly joined by the rest. From there you grin and sit back on your stool. You play your next song for the pretty stranger, letting the hem of your dress slide up as you place your foot on the stool. Your fingers dance as you play anything from original songs to Willie Dixon. By the time your half hour is done, you can feel the love of the crowd, forgotten food left on their plates. 

Back in the green room you hug yourself. There's a buzz under your skin you can't shake. Your chest is full and there's a strange sensation - as if you're where you need to be right now. But before you can unlock it, your door opens.

"Almost as beautiful as me!" Cries out Asmo. He sweeps you in a hug and you laugh. "I've never heard music like that from a human. Maybe once but that was a very long time ago."

The brown skinned stranger walks in and you look him up and down. He's tall, and although he isn't quite broad shouldered, he has a solid build. Not quite as lean as Asmo. Your perusal doesn't escape Asmo. "This is my dear friend Simeon. An angel from the Celestial realm."

"You don't say," you practically purr. Of course there are angels. So you introduce yourself and he flashes a pleasant smile. 

"Charmed," he says. "Asmodeus was right. You are extraordinarily gifted. It seems heaven ordained." 

"Ion know about all that," you reply. "But thank you."

"I think we should go celebrate. Dinner is on me," Asmo says with a clap of his hand. 

You go to a dark and moody restaurant, better than the fancy one you went to the week before. You can actually have a beer there. It's some overpriced thing they boast about being in hell's finest microbrewery but it's okay enough. You think there might be the coppery after taste of blood but you try not to pay it mind as Asmo waxes poetic over your performance and Simeon smiles, eyes glancing your way.

"Truly a gift," Simeon says. He has a pleasant voice. You bet it sounds good with a trumpet, Gabriel's or not. "I think there must be something Celestial in you."

"I'm tall but not a mile," you joke. "I went to Sunday school, I know what a nephilim is." You put a finger on your cheek pretending to be in thought. "But then again you aren't a wheel of eyes and flames Simeon."

"Indeed," he replies. "I got tired of saying Do Not Be Afraid."

You suck your teeth approvingly. "Hard to be afraid of you looking like that."

Simeon chuckles and Asmo looks between the two of you with a grin. "Two of my favorite people. How wonderful." He leans back, taking a sip of a too expensive wine that's only sold by the bottle. "But we all know the blues are the devil's music."

"You were hardly at the same show then. That was nothing short of - dare I say - angelic. You cannot tell me that doesn't remind you of the celestial realm."

"But blues would not exist without suffering," notes Asmo. 

“Can’t we say that there is something reminiscent of the Celestial realm in music?” Simeon says. His smile widens and you’re struck again by how nice his face is. 

“Surprisingly,” you interject, “I might have an opinion too.” They both look at you expectantly. “Music is shaped by human experience.” You lean forward, arms crossed. “The music is as good as it is because of me.” You shrug. “None of this hell or heaven business. Just me, a cigar box guitar, and a voice.”

“But you have to admit there’s something slightly unnatural about the skill,” Simeon muses, leaning back. “Are you sure there’s not something else we need to consider? Something in your lineage?”

“Nothing but a bunch of hardworking people,” you shrug. “But you’re not here because of my genealogy. Sounds like you are all about hypotheticals instead of experiencing things. Which is what music is about, right?” You throw your hands up and lean back. “Feeling things. Experiencing things. None of this highbrow intellectual stuff, unless you’re trying to be boring.”

Asmo gasps in mock offense. “Are you saying I’m boring?”

“What I’m  _ saying _ is that you’re rich, powerful, and live in an insulated city in the depths of hell with your equally rich and insulated brothers, and if it weren’t for you happening on my music our paths would never ordinarily cross.”

Asmo’s mouth fell open in real shock this time, Simeon looking between the two of you. “Well they have a point,” the angel says. 

“Like, where is everyone else?” you ask. “If you’re rich for demons, and you have workers and shops and performance halls, you must have a middle class and a lower class. But where are they?”

They both look at you in surprise. “What do you mean?” Simeon asks.

You let out a long-suffering sigh. “Nevermind,” you wave away. You feel like you have to do everything yourself. 

But Simeon gives you a sidelong glance that you don’t know how to read. So you decide to let it go and the conversation shifts to the restaurant, and you swap the beer you’ve been nursing for a whisky. 

Your questions move to the back of your mind and Asmo and Simeon have a riveting conversation. You don’t miss the way Simeon’s leg brushes against yours frequently, and Asmo’s hand finds its way to your thigh. As the night goes on you’re not surprised when he pipes up. “It’s a little crowded in here - how do you feel about coming up to my suite?”

“I think that sounds lovely,” you say, but you’re looking at Simeon hopefully. Your knees are touching and you let it rub ever-so-slightly up and down his. “What do you think?”

“I don’t see why not,” he says.

The three of you go to Asmo’s “room” which was honestly bigger than any apartment you’ve ever lived in. Although you’ve been spending a lot of time in it, you still take time to admire the surroundings, and the fresh flowers that made the air fragrant. It was a little busy for you, aesthetic wise, but you’ve mostly become acquainted with the mirror on the ceiling above his bed. 

You sit on the bed, back against the headboard, and Asmo joins you. Simeon drags a chair from the corner next to the bed, head perched on his hand.

Any plans to wheedle information out of Simeon about what heaven is like immediately go out the window when Asmo starts nuzzling insistently at your neck while you talk. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so endearing, and if he wasn’t so good at it. “Not in front of your guest,” you say half-heartedly.

“Simeon doesn’t mind,” he says against your skin. “Does he?”

The angel is quiet for a moment and you look over at him. “Not at all.” There’s the hint of a challenge in his eyes. 

You let out a small squeal when Asmo lifts you and places you square on his lap. The strength in that slender frame always surprises you. What doesn’t surprise you is the way you feel him digging into your ass. “Of course,” you mutter under your breath. But it’s nice. To get lost in the physical sensation of everything. The way Simeon’s eyes don’t seem to leave you. “I guess you’re angel about these things,” you say sarcastically.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t indulge,” he retorts, but there’s no malice. In fact there seems to be amusement.

You feel bashful at first as Asmo begins to grind against you. But as you see the dark look in Someone's eyes you care less. You push your ass down on Asmo's erection. He softly moans, running his hands up and down the length of your thighs. You shift instead so you're straddling him in reverse, he moves his hand to unbutton the back of your dress quickly.

The fabric falls to the side of your shoulders. You look Simeon in his intense blue eyes as Asmo slides the front forward and you shake the front off. You refuse to look down as Asmo traces the swell of your breasts by the bra cup. 

"Do you like what you see?" Asmo asks when he pulls the dress over your head, discarding it on the floor. 

Simeon shifts in the chair and you can see his pants are tented. "Sensational," he says. 

Asmo has you sit on your knees as he takes off his pants and you wait on all fours, swaying your ass slowly side to side in front of him, giving Simeon a view of your chest. When Asmo shrugs out of his clothes he rubs your ass lovingly, humming happily to himself. You smile at Simeon, who returns it. You notice his hands are gripping the arms of the chair and he shifts subtly in his seat. Asmo lowers you so you’re pressed down now against his legs, and you can feel the significant length of his cock against your vulva, his fingers pushing your panties to the side. He moves the length of himself up and down in painfully slow and small thrusts, coating himself in your wetness. Everytime the tip of him brushes against your clit you let out a small gasp.

When you’re good and ready for him, Asmo unhooks your bra and helps slide it off. You sit up so he can position himself, and you slowly slide down onto his cock. Your breath hitches as he fills you, until your bodies are flush together. It always takes a moment to adjust to the feeling and he’s patient. He pulls you back so your back is against his chest, and he toys with your breasts. When you start to move slowly up and down, Asmo takes the hint.

He grinds against you in a slow torturous rhythm, his fingers digging into your hips the same way Simeon’s fingers are digging into the chair. You get perverse pleasure at your ability to draw people in. You know you’re attractive enough - but it’s the talent that gives you an air of mystery and an allure. It’s not something you mind, especially when it feels this good.

You lean forward onto your arms so you can move your hips down to meet Asmo’s thrusts. Pants and whimpers escape your lips as Asmo hits the perfect angle to stimulate your g-spot, and when he slips a hand down so each motion of your body moves your clit against his finger, you don’t stand a chance. In mere moments the tension growing inside becomes unbearable. You lock eyes again with Simeon, who is biting his bottom lip. The sight of him squirming in his seat, a dark wet spot growing on his pants, is what pushes you over the edge.

You fall forward and grip the sheets in your fingers, moaning loudly as waves of pleasure roll through your body. Asmo quickens his thrusts until he pulls out, and you hear him moan and the sticky feel of come on your ass. You feel strangely empty but you lay on your stomach, Asmo moving so he’s to the side of you now. He pulls at the side of your underwear so it snaps back against your skin. “Beautiful,” he says again.

“Agreed,” hums Simeon from his spot on the chair. There’s a sheen on his forehead and he looks down. “I’ve made a mess of my trousers.” 

“You can borrow some of mine,” Asmo waves away. “They certainly are a temptation,” he says about you, brushing one of your long braids away from your face. He stands up to grab a warm washcloth and uses it to wash the mess he made of you, sending small jolts of pleasure through you. 

“Well this temptation is now tired,” you say. “I’m going to go back to my room.” You slowly stand up, pull on your dress, and walk over to Simeon. You lean too close to give him a kiss on his cheek, and a second on the edge of his lips. He gives you a hug, and you feel his hand roam down to your ass, brushing over it sweetly before he drops it. You smile at him. “See you soon, Simeon.” You grab the lacey bra Asmo had gifted you and tossed it to Simeon. “A treat,” you tease.

Outside the room, you let the cool air rush on your face. Although you’re sore, it’s a nice kind of sore. Like a vigorous workout. But you see movement. “Lucifer?” You exclaim. He freezes in his track and turns around. He looks irritated - like he always does when you deign to look at him - but he also looks a little guilty.

“Oh, it’s you,” he says, his nose wrinkling.

You can’t help the hunch in your gut, and call him on it. “Were you listening in on us?”

He scoffs, but there’s a hint of color in his face.  _ Got him. _

“Did you like what you heard?” You mock. “Do you wish it was you fucking me instead? Or do you wish you were watching us again? I saw you in the hallway last time.”

“I was confused,” he countered. 

You glance down. “Doesn’t seem like it,” you say. You can see the outline in his pants, no matter how dark the material. “Do you want to be jerked off in the hallway  _ Lucifer _ ?” you say, over-enunciating his name. 

He looks irritated, his mouth settling in a line. But he doesn’t deny it. “Your performance has inspired a lot of talk in the Devildom. And among my brothers.”

“I’m just that good,” you say, wiggling your fingers. “Talented fingers. But you know all about that.”

“There’s no reason for you to be this good,” he bites back. “It hasn’t been done for decades - but I think you made a crossroads deal.”

“A crossroads deal?” You ask. “Is it so difficult for you to believe I know what I’m doing.”

“Yes,” he replies. “There’s no such thing as a musician better than heaven and hell itself - someone who has no following on earth. No one who seems to miss them.” He narrows his eyes.

“You would be pretty if you didn’t talk,” you say blandly. “Then maybe even you could try these fingers.”

His throat bobs and you close some of the distance between you two. He dresses like a power broker in New York City who LARPs on the weekend and you hate it. “I’m watching you,” he tries to threaten. 

“I already know that,” you say, and head back to your room.


	4. God's Been Good To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A date with Simeon to a local garden turns frisky.

Ater your opening performance, different clubs in the Devildom ask you to come play for them and you find yourself enjoying the attention, as well as the notoriety. The fact you're Asmo's current bedmate hasn't gone unnoticed and there are an assortment of demons knocking on the House of Lamentation hoping for a private performance. But you're not particularly interested in them when Asmo keeps you coming every night, and a certain angel caught your eye.

Your opportunity arises when the Demon brothers are off dealing with some school thing, and you don't have any gigs. You slip on a pair of high waisted shorts that are scandalously short and admire the hint of cheek from behind in your mirror, and a tank top with a flannel shirt. He doesn't seem to like flashiness, but you stretch your arms above your head to see whether or not your areolas show under the white tank top. They do.  _ Perfect. _

You bugged Asmo for Simeon's number before he left and you pull out your phone - sorry, D.D.D. 

Are you busy today? <<

>> WHO IS THIS

>> Sorry who is thus

>> This

>> Solomon says I'm has at texting

>> Bad 

You laugh to yourself, trying to reconcile the pretty face with the rather horrendous texting.

I’ll give you a hint <<

You snap a picture in the mirror and send it over to him.

>> Not busy

You smile to yourself and text him some plans. There’s a garden you want to visit, and you’re curious what can actually grow in a place like this, with no natural sun and salted ground. After all, it was supposed to be hell. A fact you can’t quite wrap your head around. There are angels and demons, but you also aren't being exposed to whatever lies beyond the city. Asmo seems bored at the prospect of it, but you’ve traveled a lot. There’s always another side of the tracks. But you sling your guitar on your box, check your bag, and head out to the gardens.

You are completely unsurprised when it turns out to be a poison and night garden - all manner of deadly plants enticingly within reach, only skulls and crossbone signs stuck into the soft earth to tell you they’re deadly. Tiny gold placards discuss their horrific effects, and the map given to you tells you there’s only a small “replica garden” that isn’t full of things that could kill a soft-bodied human as yourself. Lovely.

You’re loitering around the entrance when Simeon meets you. He’s just as beautiful as before - angular jaw that comes to a pointed chin, and unnaturally blue eyes. You think brown eyes would be gorgeous too, but blue is definitely nice on him, with his small smile and sharp cupid’s bow. You wonder if cupid is real, or if he ever had a bow. He’s an angel, he should know.

“Thanks for inviting me out,” he says. “Believe it or not, I’ve never been here before,” he says. 

“It’s not as cheerful as I was hoping,” you say. “But it’s interesting at least. Probably.”

The two of you wander the dirt paths of ‘the Devildom’s finest collection of dangerous delights’, and you snap photos on your not-smartphone. In front of a spectacular plant of fuschia and violet colors, you make Simeon take a selfie with you. As the taller one you initially hand him the phone but after several attempts with visible thumbs and half-closed eyes you snatch it back from him to do it yourself. A pleasant hum runs through you when he places his hand on the small of your back. You respond by pushing your body close to his, and leaning up to kiss his cheek.

“I’ll send you the photo later,” you say. But you’re reluctant to separate. You notice he’s in no rush too, and his cheeks have darkened slightly. “Maybe we can take some more today. I don’t want you to forget me,” you tease.

“I don’t think I ever could,” he replies. The sincerity in his voice takes you aback. You wonder if he thinks about the night he watched you fuck Asmo as much as you did. Every night, even riding the pleasure of Asmo’s touch, you think about the look on his face - the parted lips. 

You fight the dirty thoughts rising in your mind and look away. Fun day at the garden - that’s what you’re here for. But as you walk around, you find yourself touching Simeon more. A casual brush on his shoulder, finger trailing on his stomach. He returns the favor and although you talk about only the plants, he’s the only thing on your mind.

The sweet smile on his face and open enjoyment of the scenery plays in stark contrast against him panting, the rise of his chest and the way he thrusted against his pants, come darkening the fabric as he watched you. By the time you enter the replica garden, you have to press your thighs together, hoping to get some sort of relief. 

It’s beautiful - enough to momentarily distract you. Fake sunlight streams in, and the air has a balmy quality. It’s enough to remind you of the South. When you close your eyes you can practically hear the cicadas screaming.

Wait.

You can hear them screaming.

When your eyes fly open, you realize it actually looks like the bayou. The ground is spongey, and spanish moss droops all around you. Although you begin to sweat it’s a nice feeling. “What is this place?” You ask. “Do you see this too?”

“It’s whatever is in your mind. Sort of takes requests, if you will.” Simeon looked up. “Where is this?”

You grin. “Louisiana. Mississippi. I like it.”

He looks around the dome. His blue eyes fix on a rope of Spanish Moss fluttering in the sunset. The ground is a bevy of colors - the dirt, moss, and filtered sunlight reflected in his eyes. Your stomach knots when he faces you head-on. “Would you play for me?” he asks, another sweet smile on his face.

“What do you want to hear, beautiful?” You ask him. You find a spot underneath a tree and sit down, opening your case and taking out your guitar. He settles down next to you. 

“Anything you like,” he responds. 

You think about it. It’s not your traditional medium of blues, but you can put enough of your spin on it. The opening of From Eden plays across your fingertips. It’s an odd choice - the 5 beat pattern is unsettling enough to people who listen closely enough, but it’s the most garden-themed song you can think of.

“Babe,” you begin, looking at Simeon. “There’s something tragic about you, something so magic about you," you flash him a wink. "Don't you agree?"

He sways, legs crossed, as you serenade him. He's a pretty sight that pushes a smokiness to your voice. Not strain. Emotion. A personal one, not the snare you usually find yourself laying out for listeners. You're not sure how you feel about this part of yourself slipping through. But he seems to enjoy it so much.

“Honey you’re familiar, like my mirror long ago / Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword / Innocence died screaming honey ask me I would know / I slithered here from Eden just to hide outside your door.”

Recognition lights his eyes up and he chuckles softly to himself. A pretty sound. When the final chord strums into the air, it’s almost like you’re playing to one of your old lovers. That you’re back home. You can’t figure out if he moved closer while you were playing, or if he just took up all the energy in the room.

“Eden, I see. Staying on theme.” 

"Was that all the hot gossip back in the day?" You ask.

"I'm sure you're not interested in family squabbles," he says. 

You can recognize a change of subject when you hear it. "Did you like it? "

"Beautiful. Music is so pure."

"I think the sin makes it interesting," you shoot back. His arm reaches out and you love the thrill of it. His even, gorgeous skin not far from your own shade. How he seems perfectly crafted.

"Sins by design are enjoyable but dark," he replies. "I don't see anything terrible in what you've created. Music is godlike in that regard. Creation."

He looks at you with open admiration and affection blossoms deep in you. You lean forward and close the distance between you two.

When you taste his lips it's faintly of honey - and you can't imagine how or why. You get used to the feel of it for a moment, the two of you pressing soft kisses against each other until you finally deepen it, sliding your tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. He sighs happily and the heat in your chest drops to between your thighs. His breathing becomes more ragged and his hand brushes down your side and around to your rear.

He squeezes it right before toying along the hem, his fingers brushing on the skin of your ass. When you let out a happy sigh Simeon releases a shuddering breath then rolls you over so you're pinned beneath him. His hands hold your wrist down and he shifts against you so you can feel his erection digging into your thigh.

"I shouldn't," he says. But even as you do so he grinds slowly against you. In response you arch your back up and wrap your legs around his waist. His blue eyes darken as you coax him to continue with your legs. The angle is just right to stimulate your clit as he does. "We could be caught," he says lamely.

"No one's been here the whole time," you say. Your voice and vision are hazy with lust. 

His thrusts are still slow but he digs slightly harder and a gasp escapes your lips. He leans down to kiss you again, a deep one that leaves you gasping for air. When he parts, the intensity of his eyes burn. "It isn't forbidden."

That's all you need before your hands are hastily undoing the buttons on your shorts. You barely pull them below your ass when he flips you over. He squeezes each cheek and gives them quick pinches and spanks before pulling your shorts off the rest of the way. He rolls you onto your back again and you tear off his shirt to reveal bronzened brown skin that seems to glow.

You're both haphazardly undoing his pants as he kisses you again on the mouth and then your neck. Your tank top is the last to go, thrown somewhere in a pile. 

Buck naked in the magical garden, he looks stunning. Perfectly crafted from head to toe, and a proud cock jutting out. The tip glistens with precome. He suddenly looks away for a moment, shy. He might not be quite as large length-wise as Asmo but he’s still more than impressive. You hook a hand around the back of his neck and bring him down to kiss you again. His lips are desperate against you, and you spread your legs for him.

He pushes the tip of his cock in ever so carefully - a luxuriously slow push inside until he is finally flush against you. Your walls are tight around him and you both take ragged breaths as you adjust. He touches his forehead to yours in an oddly sweet and intimate gesture before your lips touch again.

He isn't as confident and sure as Asmo, but he is earnest as he takes his time finding and setting his rhythm. "More," you say into his mouth. "You won't hurt me."

The encouragement is all Simeon needs before he begins to thrust more vigorously, and you lift your hips slightly to meet him. When he buries his face in the crook of your neck you look up at the fake sunlight streaming through the willow tree branches.

You lift his head back up so you can grip your fingers in his hair, his brown skin pleasantly flushed. "Simeon," you say breathlessly. "You're so beautiful."

His eyes seem to look straight into you and the thrusts become harder and more deliberate, pulling back and pushing into you insistently. Your chin tilts back and he bites his lip. The soft moans from his lips now are ripped from his throat. "Pull out," you order him and he immediately does. You reach for his now slick cock and it takes only a few pumps before he finishes on your stomach. 

He leans over you on his arms, looking almost embarrassed. He touches your forehead again. "I'm sorry," he says softly. "I finished before you."

"It's alright," you say, putting a hand on his cheek. He turns his face into your palm. "Has it been awhile?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"It's very sweet," you say. And it's true. "I told you no one would walk in."

You two clean up as best as possible. Simeon wipes the come off your stomach with the inside of his shirt and you get dressed, the two of you sitting on a bench. Simeon puts his arm around your shoulder. "Can we do this again sometime?" He asks.

"Gladly."

When you return to the House of Lamentation that night you're immediately set upon by Asmo. "Where have you been? There's grass in your hair and you smell like sex."

As you tell Asmo what happened his eyes light up. If you were worried about him being jealous the fears were easily brushed away, and Asmo was more than eager to dive between your legs and lick you to completion before you even had a chance to shower. You spend the rest of the night cuddling in his bed and touching each other until you fall asleep.

The next morning when you wake up and head back to your room, nothing has changed except for your desk. You find a note.

_ To the best musician I've ever heard - _

_ I don't think something that feels so good could ever be a sin. _

_ Simeon _

There's an apple next to it, and you grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading along! I'm enjoying this a lot and hope you are too. While this fic is more or less mapped out I do love taking requests too so feel free to drop them in the comments or message me on tumblr @/simeonsaysobeyme


	5. Need a Little Sugar In My Bowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's your night with Simeon and he's becoming comfortable in his sexuality with you, while you learn more about how the Devildom operates.

You admire the fresh bouquet of flowers that's been delivered to the green room of your latest performance. Admirers are waiting for you to finish up, and you couldn't be more surprised at the turn of events. As reluctant as you were to admit it - being in hell had it's perks. You played three days a week in sought after venues, had actual fans (demon or not), and two gorgeous men at your beck and call.

Asmo was as lovely and insatiable as ever. He kept you satisfied and more. Your toes curl at the memory of it. But he's not the only one. With Simeon you experienced something new and wholly different. Asmo was the one picking you up from that night's performance. He immediately began to touch and nuzzle his face against you, pulling you tight against him. 

“That was splendid as always,” he said. “Your talent is unmatched. Should I be jealous of your admirers?” 

“Never,” you reply. “Jealousy is unattractive.”

“I would  _ never _ want to be that,” he clucks. “You know I’m the most attractive person in the universe.”

“You have some competition,” you mutter, thinking about Simeon’s lips on yours.

“If it weren’t for the fact it makes me unattractive, I think I might be jealous,” Asmo says, placing a kiss on your temple. “An angel and devil on your shoulder.”

“Hopefully on top of me, but not on my shoulders.”

Asmo’s whisky-red eyes flash. “We might be able to arrange something.”

He plants a steamy kiss on you, shifting just so you can feel his erection forming. “But not tonight,” he sighs when he pulls away. “I know you have plans with Simeon, I’ll take care of it until morning.

“Bye,” you say with a smile. “Thank you for watching,” 

Your performance clothes tonight are a fitted suit and a crisp white shirt unbuttoned low enough to show off your black bra with straps criss crossing your chest. Asmo traces the fabric appreciatively and gives it a snap before finally leaving.

You check your white chuck taylors for scuffs before slinging your guitar case over your shoulder. Solomon is waiting for you by the artists entrance, talking to a pale-skinned man with gray-white hair. He gives you an approving look before walking away, leaving Asmo all to yourself. 

“Who was that?” you ask. 

“A friend of mine, Solomon. Human warlock. He has some other interesting theories about you.”

“Does he?” You ask. “Seems like everyone talking out the side of their mouth about me.”

“He thinks you practiced.”

“He might be onto something,” you say with a grin. “But I don’t know if I can trust a man -- warlock or not -- who wears a bolo tie.”

“I feel like this is a human reference I don’t understand,” Simeon replied, “But I trust that it’s funny.”

You hook a hand around the back of his neck and pull him down into a lazy kiss. He’s too cute to resist, especially dressed in relatively normal clothes. You link your fingers in his and make your way to the Devildom’s best imitation of a soul restaurant. It’s terrible, but you’ve been wanting to try it, even as you poke at the underseasoned greens. “I could whip up something better than this,” you grumble.

“We could always go back to Purgatory Hall and find something? I know Luke is always leaving cookies around.” 

You smile at him. “That sounds fun, Simeon.”

In the kitchens of Purgatory Hall you look around. There are a few people who walk through, but they seem to be on the outskirts of your vision. When you try to focus on them, they seem to blur away. “Who are those people?” You ask.

Simeon looks momentarily taken aback. “You can see them?”

“Almost,” you shrug, as you tie your long box braids back so you can rummage through the fridge. “But they’re actually there, yes?”

“They are. They’re souls who were sent here, but have more or less atoned and do work around the devildom that the demons themselves prefer not to. Cooking, cleaning, running shops and the like.”

You stare at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Should I be?” He asked quizzically. 

“That’s horrible,” you say with a winkle of your nose. “I don’t like that one bit.”

“Why not?” he asks curiously. You can tell he means it in good faith, his blue eyes too earnest to be anything but. 

So you reach up to pat his cheek. “Oh honey. That requires explaining a good part of human history from 1619 until now. Stay beautiful.” You turn to the stove. “How about we make some grilled cheese sandwiches?”

The gooey sandwiches end up devoured with sweet potato fries and wine. The two of you laugh over the table as you grill each other with questions. The lounge is completely empty as the night goes on, a fire starting at some point, unnoticed. You've draped your legs over his and he runs his fingers over the straps of your bra, lightly dipping by your cleavage. 

Heat is beginning to stir so you shift, your calf resting on Simeon's inner thigh. You enjoy studying his face. The wider set of his nose and shape of his lips hold familiar traces of past lovers in them, but he is something wholly new. 

Simeon turns more towards you. His hand moves from your shirt to your leg, where he runs his hand along your thigh until it curves around your ass, fingers digging in. It's clear by now what he enjoys and you aren't in the mood to deny him. 

In a moment your lips touch and the aching inside bursts. He's less tentative than the last times you've kissed and he deepens it quickly, his tongue trailing your lips before meeting your own. You lightly brush your leg inside his and he groans softly in your mouth.

You rock back and forth on him, as his mouth moves to your jaw and then your neck. He sucks and nips at the sensitive skin there and you let out a long and low moan.

"Where's everyone?" You manage to ask as he sits back enough to unbutton your shirt. "I don't want to scar Luke for eternal life."

"Solomon is out with Asmodeus. Luke is sound asleep by now. There's nothing to worry about."

At that you grin and make sure your hair is still tied back. You move away and slide onto the floor. His eyes go wide when you position yourself between his legs and run your hand over the stiffness in his pants. 

You unbutton and unzip slowly, savoring the way his cock tries to free itself before you pull back his underwear. 

The expanse of skin is glorious. All even golden brown, with toned muscles leading to the deep pelvis bones, drawing the eye to his erection. You can see the ripple of anticipation go through him, the tiniest twitches. You lightly trace your finger up the shaft and swipe the precome dripping from the tip.

His breath is shaky a she this his head back, and you lower your mouth over the tip. Simeon gasps as your tongue swirls around, lapping up what your finger didn't. Then your tongue moves up and down, covering him in your spit before you put his cock back in your mouth, hour hand working the base of him.

You set up a rhythm - your head bobbing slowly at first, hollowing your cheeks each time you pull back. He gently puts his hand near the base of your head, fingers threading through your braids. You feel him involuntarily bucking against your mouth. He's big but you fit as much as him as you can, eyes stinging as you pick up the pace.

He moans your name and begins to buck more frequently, causing you to gag slightly and you pump your hand faster. Simeon moans loudly before he suddenly comes in your mouth. The slightly bitter taste hits the back of your throat and you swallow, your head moving and tongue lapping until he's soft. He lets out a groan when you pull away, his lap a mess of spit and stray come drops. 

He wipes your mouth with your thumb and his eyebrows pinch together as he looks at you. "I'm sorry did I -"

"You're fine," you say reassuringly before sitting up and straddling his lap. You unbutton your shirt and take it off, leaning forward to kiss him. He cups your rear as you do so, and you break away only so you can shrug off your pants.

Simeon studies you appreciatively. "Can I ask you something?"

"Only if you take off your clothes," you reply, only half teasing. But he immediately obeys, taking off his shirt, pants, and underwear in a blink. Naked on the couch he's glorious. You can feel your pussy throbbing, aching for stimulation. 

"Can I…" he trails off, his skin darkening in a blush. "Can I watch you? Watch you touch yourself?"

You grin at him. Simeon the angel had his kinks. You trail your hand from your neck down to your breasts, gripping them both before circling your nipples. "Is this what you like Simeon?" You turn around so your rear is facing him and slide your hands under the band of your underwear, sliding it down under your ass and using it to lift your cheeks up, then drop down. 

You make a show out of it for Simeon, bending over to slide them off and unhooking your bra. The heat of the fireplace only heightens the sensuality of it and you glance back over your shoulder at Simeon, who is enraptured. Then you sit down on the floor in front of him and lay back, arching up and fondling your breasts some more. You part hour legs to expose your now soaking vulva, lubricant smeared all over your inner thigh. 

You slide two fingers on either side of your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you before you slide those same fingers into yourself. Firmly planting your thumb by your clit to stimulate it, you slide the fingers in and think of Simeon and Asmo. You know you should be embarrassed or ashamed but when you look at Simeon you can see he's already hard again, hand resting lightly around the base of his cock.

With each thrust of your fingers you massage your clit as well and you push your legs as wide as they can go, hips lifting off the ground as you finger fuck yourself. "Simeon," you moan. "Is this what you like?"

"You're heavenly," he says in a raspy voice. With your free hand you splay your labia apart for him until you push yourself over the edge, crying out as the orgasm washes over you.

You've barely recovered when Simeon is on top of you, grabbing your hand. He raises it to his mouth and licks gently. The angel has positioned himself so his erection is resting on your stomach. He then holds your hands down on the floor. "Do you need to wait?" He asks. 

"No," you say. "I want you to fuck me Simeon."

You guide him inside you and soon he's moving in out of you, pumping hard and fast. You know you're being loud but it matches his delicious moans. You urge him on, even as his hands crush yours. The carpet burns against your back and rear but you forget it as he shifts his angle and perfectly slides against your g spot. Your walls tighten around him and you cry out his name as you climax. He thrusts hard inside you before going rigid and you feel the hot liquid fill you up. 

When he pulls out you let out a small gasp, your arms sore from being pinned. You ask him to grab a warm washcloth and he dutifully does, tenderly cleaning you up. 

The two of you grab your clothes and make a mad dash to Simeon's room, where you collapse on his bed laughing. When you roll on your stomach he lightly traces the patches of raw skin from rug burns. "They'll heal up fine," you brush off. 

You lounge on his bed together, naked as Adam and Even. He traces his fingers up and down, looking at you in open admiration. You finally get back to the question that bothered you earlier. "So these human souls. Do they live here too?"

"I believe so, in a different part of town." Your face falls and he tilts his head to the side. "This upsets you. Why?"

"Rubs me the wrong way. But I should have realized things aren't perfect in hell." You roll your eyes at the thought. You'd been too caught up in the music and appreciation for it, and two gorgeous beings lavishing attention on you. "It reminds me of bad things back home. Divided cities. Lower class. Where things aren't so great for people our shade." You sigh. 

"Why?" He asks, with sincerity. The question was so simple and nearly childlike, you wonder if you hallucinated your entire life so far on Earth, despite making the best of everything. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

You look at him. "Please never change." You glance over at the guitar case by the wall. "Want to hear a song?"

"Please," he said. A quick tune up and then you're plucking your way through Day Dreaming by Aretha Franklin. Around Simeon there's more of yourself in the songs and lyrics. But you enjoy it still. A new part of your musical expertise opening up while you're here, making the best of it. 

When you finish singing, you absentmindedly work your way through chord progressions, your fingers effortlessly picking the strings. Simeon watches, mesmerized. 

"I love your hands," he says. 

You give him a playful wink. "You do like watching don't you?" He looks slightly embarrassed again and you smile it off. "Actually there is something you can do to help me," you say. "Tell me where the human souls go when they're not working."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for reading along. Pretty soon you get to learn more about MC and their fast fingers, with some more steamy scenes  
> 👁️👁️


	6. Three's Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You find another opportunity in the Devildom. Meanwhile, Asmo takes you for a celebratory night out at the club with Simeon. The three of you have a fun night together. :)

With Simeon's help you're able to find the human side of Devildom. You dress casually in black jeans and a fitted long sleeve shirt, guitar in stow as always. The buildings go from lustrous to dull to dilapidated the farther from the city center you go.

You find a small tavern where you hear jukebox country playing out of and decide to try your luck. Now that you know what to look for, the ghosts are more obvious to you. They look human, if fuzzy around the edges. 

The person manning the bar looks at you curiously. "Can I help you?"

"Do you have a beer that tastes mass produced?" You ask.

A can materializes in front of you. It's a mash of blue and silver with no discernable logo or name, and when you taste a sip you can tell it's only tolerable ice cold. Perfect. As you chug it before it reaches the point of being disgusting. There are people having conversations. There's the small jukebox wailing Johnny Cash. There's a tiny stage in the corner of the awkward L-shaped seating area. But all you've ever been was a stool and your instrument.

"Do people ever perform here?" You ask with a smile.

"Why would people do that? Nothing but ghosts here. Are you that human exchange student?"

"No, just some American girl," you say, propping your chin on your hand. "Can I perform here? No pay needed. I just like seeing humans."

"What's left of humans," the man said. He seems to fade in front of your eyes and slightly solidify. "I was lucky, only in hell for around seven hundred years before being promoted, so to say." 

You consider this. Something in your head throbs, as if it's pushing against your skull. But you ignore it and make plans for when to come back.

Later that week Asmo insists on taking you out to celebrate your fiftieth performance in the Devildom. It's hard to believe months had passed where the sun didn't shine. You long for the sunshine, sometimes in intense bursts. But it’s no longer the constant burden on your shoulders. Asmo of course was delighted to pick out a pretty dress for you. A short sheer dusty orange thing that you pair with a brown nude underwear and bra. The Devildom has proven to have a lax dresscode when it comes to display of skin, and you brush sparkly highlighter on your collarbone and cleavage.

Asmo won’t shut up about the club - The Fall. You’re not sure what to expect there but you’ve heard all his brothers will be in attendance for other reasons that bore you. You're mostly concerned with Asmo and a certain angel. And all the brothers had somewhat absurd names. 

He keeps his hand around your waist as you attend, and he's careful not to let his hair get messed up on the way. He insisted on taking no less than a dozen selfies, which you were more than happy to indulge. You looked and  _ felt _ good. Things were really coming together. 

The building is a weird purple color that blends into the not-night sky. You realize now that your sleep schedule could be completely backwards or off compared to home and you’d have no idea. No night, no day. Even time feels a bit nebulous.It feels like a fever dream, even though you know it’s happening. 

Simeon is waiting for you near the coat check. He looks gorgeous in a white and gold sleeveless tunic that goes down to his thighs and black pants, a clear callback to the angelic clothing you’ve seen him wear sometimes. It suits him well. Although he would look good in everything - and nothing. You go up on your tiptoes and cup his cheek before kissing him sweetly. 

“Good to see you.” He looks up and smiles. “Asmodeus.”

“Oh Simeon, don’t you look as perfect as ever,” Asmo gushes. Simeon’s eyes go a bit wide when Asmo goes up to him and plops a kiss on his lips as well. You laugh to yourself and let the atmosphere wash over you. This hadn’t been much of your scene - just the occasional night out in a pretty dress. 

The bass is buzzing through you, almost enough to hurt. The chords are simpler, the lines cleaner and synthesized, but that doesn’t make it any less of a revelry. Your music is a different kind of enjoyment and tribute to the lived experience. Instead of trying to make people feel something in their heart or see it in their mind, this takes over bodies. And you’re not immune.

Asmo follows you to the dance floor. Simeon is unsure of himself, but when you beckon with your hand, he follows you. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm with them. Asmo moves as naturally as he does in the bedroom. Simeon is awkward in the beginning. But like with everything else, he soon gets the hang of it. You whisper encouragingly in his ear, lining him just right behind you so you can move your ass against him, that you know he loves so much. Asmo grins in front of you, running a box braid between his fingers. 

As you dance, you lose yourself to the music and the movement. This is the most human you've felt in months, even as you have an angel dancing behind you and a demon in front of you, each of them turning your skin into fire. The hem of your skirt rises up as Asmo gets handsy with you, his erection digging into your side as he grinds on you.

The music vibrates in your rib cage and you lose your balance, but they keep you upright and sandwiched between them. Asmo shifts so you're grinding directly on his cock now, and you're grateful you wore as little clothing as possible. No one can hear your soft moans, mouth open, as you debate fucking them right there. But even you aren't up for that and simply lose yourself in the torturous grind and their wandering hands.

You're all covered in sweat and glitter as you stumble into the swanky hotel near The Fall. Asmo practically has his head buried in your cleavage and is nipping and licking at the skin as Simeon focuses on opening the door. Asmo lifts you up and practically tosses you onto the bed. His face is covered in the highlighter you’d put on earlier.

Simeon quickly joins and kisses you as Asmo pulls out a fancy bag that has an array of toys in it. You laugh before Simeon silences you with another kiss.

You feel Asmo sit beside you and slide a hand up the inside of your thigh, fingers playing in the soft curly hair between your legs. His hand is exploratory and you softly bite Simeon's bottom lip. Asmo gently parts the folds and lightly touches, but doesn’t do more. It’s frustrating. You finally gasp for air when Simeon moves to your neck, biting and sucking at the skin there. Someone’s hand moved its way to your chest, playing with the now-hard nipples and massaging the skin. Drunk on the night, you tilt your head back and enjoy the feeling. 

The two pairs of mouths and hands on your body turn your core into liquid heat. You finally open your eyes just in time to see Asmo rip your dress apart and then your bra. From there the shreds of fabric are discarded and the other two disrobe. 

Asmo sits on the bed and this time you stand up. There are spots on your skin that tingle and your nipples ache from the twisting and tugging and you’re soaked between the legs. You go to the case Asmo brought and see what’s in there. The standard dildos and vibrators, cock rings, were in there along with BDSM gear and stranger-looking things. You run your hands over the contents before picking out a sleek glass toy. You would keep it simple - you didn’t want to scare Simeon off too much.

You get onto your knees in front of Asmodeus. You’re careful to arch your back to give Simeon the best view possible of you. Asmo is too big for you to take all of, but you do the best you can. You keep it sloppy and noisy the way Asmo likes, gushing about how big he is and how good his cock tastes. Asmo is predictable that way. Vain, but beautiful enough and as gifted enough as a lover to warrant the vanity. Asmo is on the verge of coming when you pull away, strands of spit linking from your mouth to his cock. 

You take the glass dildo and lubricate it, looking back at Simeon with a playful smile. He’s sitting and watching you, watching the two of you. Asmo leans back, spreading his own legs wide. You lube your fingers and massage around his entrance, before pushing a finger inside him. It doesn’t take long before you manage to slip two fingers in - Asmo’s moans filling up the hotel room. Then you replace your fingers with the toy. You angle it so it pushes against his sweet spot. When you move your hand to pump his cock up and down, Asmo lets out a few drawn out moans before coming in your hand. There’s an abundance and you wipe it off on the sheets. 

You know Asmo won’t stay soft for long so you pull Simeon towards you. He looks over you intensely, seeming to memorize every detail. His hand goes where Asmo’s had been earlier, but he doesn’t stop at simply prying apart the now-soaked labia - he slides a finger inside you. Your coaching over the past weeks has paid off, and he nimbly massages inside you, a second finger quickly joining.

Asmo joined the two of you, lowering his head over your chest. Your mouth falls open and you grab the back of Asmo’s head, fingers tangling in his light brown hair. You’re a mess in front of them but you don’t mind at all. Tension is building where he strokes, amplified by Asmo’s skillful tongue around your nipple, teeth only lightly grazing. 

“All the noises you make are magnificent,” Simeon says above you, his blue eyes dark. When Asmo bites just a bit harder it pushes you over the edge and you jerk against Simeon’s hand, pleasure washing over you. Your chest heaves and Asmo gives one last tug before pulling away. Simeon moves to kiss you, and you sigh into his mouth. 

Asmo sits in between your legs and your overstimulated core. He lowers his head and licks you slowly. It’s painful - there’s so much going on and you’ve barely recovered. But damn if it didn’t feel so good. With your hand, you find Simeon’s thick erection and squeeze lightly. His breath catches and you smile against his mouth. As you start to come close to another orgasm, Asmo stops. You playfully kick at him but he simply catches your leg and hooks it up by his shoulder. He lays the length of his erection along your labia and grinds. It's a heady, delectable feeling, only putting the smallest yet insistent pressure on your clit.

“My dear,” Asmo says, dropping a kiss on your calf. You pull away from Simeon’s perfect swollen lips to look at the demon, your hand still lazily tracing up and down Simeon’s cock. Asmo runs his hand along the inside of your leg that’s still firmly on the bed, which in turn pushes him against your swollen clit, making you gasp. “Have you ever had two at once?”

You didn’t think your cheeks could flush any hotter but you manage to surprise yourself. "No," you confess. You look between the two of them. "But I'll try."

Asmo smiles. "We can go slow."

You cup Simeon's face again. "Are you okay with that? Being inside me while Asmo is?"

He nods at you. "If you want this."

"If you want to stop at any time just say…" you think for a moment. "Morningstar."

The three of you share a chuckle before Asmo is back with lubricant. He frees your leg and turns you on your knees. Simeon is riveted as the demon spreads your cheeks apart. "A perfect peach," Asmo said. "I'll need to take a bite." You bury your head down in the bed, gripping the sheets in your hand. It's Asmo's turn to carefully put lube around your anus, beginning the slow prep work. 

Although this isn't new to you, you're not as quick to be ready as Asmo is, and he's patient as he works his fingers in. As the discomfort gives way and you relax, pleasure builds again. You motion for Simeon to sit in front of you and as Asmo's fingers move in and out, you take Simeon in your mouth. 

Your head forced down anyway by the position, you take Simeon all the way, your tongue swiveling around him. His hand massages your scalp as you move your head up and down, sighing your name. You increase the pressure on him as Asmo slips a third finger in, and Simeon bucks against you. You gag briefly before he comes, and when you come up for air it's half spilled out onto your chin, eyes watering. 

"I'm sorry," he says, eyebrow pinched. 

"Don't be," you reassure him. "I think I'm ready Asmo," you say.

Sitting up on your knees, Asmo comes around. "Oh aren't you beautiful like this," he says. He kisses you, Simeon's come and the salty taste of yourself mixing. You laugh as Asmo licks the remain from your face. There wasn't a depravity he wasn't into. He runs his hands over your still-sore chest and the rest of your body as he kisses you deep and hard. There's an edge to Asmo when he fucks that's very different from Simeon. But you enjoy them both.

You pull Asmo so he's under you. He's splendid. The faint outline of abs under his fair skin, and those strange eyes. Your eyes stop at his cock. "That's not going in my ass tonight," you tease. "The downside of being over endowed. You don't mind though do you Simeon?" You ask the angel. 

Simeon looks down at you. "Not at all." His voice cracks a bit and you smile at him. You'd had a feeling he would be interested. His cock is already twitching and hardening again. So you lift up, and guide Asmo inside you first. He always fills you so much and requires adjustment at first - but you still are so curious and ready for Simeon. 

You lean forward to brace on two hands, humming in pleasure as the angle changes, and grind your hips against him. Asmo instructs Simeon to use more lube first. When he gets distracted telling Simeon to pump and slather too much you lightly poke his chest. 

"Sorry," Asmo says. He reaches up with both hands to cup your chest, his thumbs flicking your nipples lightly. 

Simeon gently pushes the tip in. You tense at first but relax, thanks to Asmo's earlier work. He inches in slowly and you feel like your whole lower body is being stretched out. His fingers dig into your hips and you can hear him breathing hard. 

When he's flush against you, you focus on breathing. It's so strange and you feel so full. Theres only millimeters separating the two of them inside you, and you move experimentally, studying how it feels. 

"If it's too much we can stop," Asmo says. There's sweat beading on his perfect forehead. 

You move your hip up and down him more and you settle into it. "I think I like it," you say. 

It's clumsy at first until the three of you settle into a rhythm. Not unlike music, you think. As you become comfortable, Simeon leans down to kiss your shoulder. There's skin against skin, everyone's sweat and moans and thrusts mixing with the creaking of the bed and thud of the headboard against the wall.

"Yes," you groan out, not caring if the people next door heard. Let them. "Simeon, more," you tell him. You feel Simeon give a couple more hard thrusts, fingers painfully digging into your side, before you feel his hot liquid for the second time that night. He stays inside until he's soft and then pulls out. 

Before you can register the sudden emptiness, Asmo flips you so you're under him. Your bodies still sandwiched together, he digs his head into your neck and begins to kiss and bite hard, thrusting in and out of you. There's nothing but his grunts in your ear and the way he's fucking you hard and fast. You hike your legs him, crying out in pleasure.

Your orgasm is on you in a second and you dig your nails in Asmo's back. The back of your eyelidshe go white and Asmo gives a final hard thrust before he also comes in you. It's no surprise by now the Avatar of Lust has so much in him. But when he pulls out of you, you can barely mood.

"Beautiful," he says. "I love you like this," he says. Simeon lays down on your side, tracing a finger up and down your arm. Asmo lifts off the bed and returns with a steaming bowl and some wash rags.

You close your eyes as he cleans you up, your overstimulated skin running hot. You keep replaying the feeling of them both inside you, filling you up. If you were supposed to feel ashamed or used, the feeling never arrived. 

When you're finally ready the three of you go into the shower. Asmo does most of the cleaning while Simeon kisses your sensitive lips. The two of them are hard again by the time you step out, but there's nothing more than heavy petting before you fall asleep.

In the morning when you wake up, the other two are already moving. There's a deep soreness in you but it's not wholly unpleasant. 

Simeon pulls you into a hug. "Do you want to get breakfast?"

"That sounds nice."

You tell Asmo you'll see him later and you go with Simeon to the patisserie, where the two of you enjoy simple but tasty fare. "Will I see you tonight?" He asks hopefully. 

You shake your head. "Regretfully no," you say, reaching across the table to play with his hand. “I need a little time to myself. Not in a bad way. I just spent a lot of time with everyone the last couple days. But I’ll see you tomorrow if you like.”

He closes his eyes and smiles in a familiar and charming way. When you get back to your room in the House of Lamentation you sink into the bath one more time, easing the aches from the night before and replaying it over and over in your mind. After spending most of the day resting you dress simply for your evening plans - jeans and a long sleeve shirt - before grabbing your guitar and heading out.

You find your way as quickly as you can to the human bar you went to before. You see your name on a chalkboard scribbled outside and grin. It’s getting easier to see the ghosts of humans - you can see their faces now, clearly defined. No more shifty features of smoke. 

“I’ll take one of those beers now,” you say to the owner, before hopping up onto the tiny stage. It’s barely anything more than two by fours nailed together, with a string of fairy lights and a stool. It’s perfect. You set up quickly and tune, a pint put on the counter close to you and the lights going down.

You start off by playing a simple chord progression and speaking into the microphone set up in front of you. “Hello, thanks for joining me tonight,” you say, the music soft underneath you. Eyes turn to you in the place - the light reflecting them strangely. You’re reminded once more that these people lived their lives on earth and have since died. “I’m going to play some music for you tonight,” you add a few subtle licks and slides into the progression. “You don’t need to tip me. I just want you to feel something.” You trade words for whistled tune that evokes the empty plains of the Heartland, the long winding roads and often-brutal sun that beats down in the summertime. 

Earlier you found out the reason they played country was they had someone come through who liked it. Country is a cousin to blues so after you warm up with Johnny Cash and classic tales of cowboys and lovers, you decide to update their catalogue. Your strumming falls into the swung three beat rhythm. 

“They say Paris is dead,” you sing softly. “Lived in London, and drank through Memphis. The things you live by were once just a guess. And there ain’t no glory in the west,” you close your eyes softly. The great Rocky Mountains and Cascades come to mind, their snow capped trees chilly and occasionally giving way to frozen-over lakes. Orville Peck probably wasn’t what this group typically heard, but you do the modern song as much justice as possible, leaning into the simplicity of the music and melody. It’s not a belting tune - it doesn’t need it. But by the end as you look on your small and stunned audience, you can almost see the frost on their lips, echoing the song you just played for them.

The applause is hearty and when you finish, you have drinks with them. There’s lots of questions - some you answer, others you stumble over. But they all say the same thing. You made them  _ feel _ again. That was what you wanted. By the time you pack up and step outside, your heart is full. You walk a couple blocks before stopping underneath an awning and leaning against the wall, tilting your head back. 

“Interesting performance,” a voice says. You look up and see none other than the Morningstar himself. He’s dressed rather simply, you notice. A tailored black collared shirt and matching pressed pants, his gloves on as always. His black with red-trim jacket looks luxurious. But he certainly stood out against his surroundings. “Do you often travel to the outer neighborhoods of the Devildom?” he asks.

“Do you, Lucifer?” you ask in response, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you following me?”

“I wasn’t,” he shoots back, “I saw your name while walking through the area and decided to see what was going on. After all, it is my duty to -”

“Sure, whatever helps you sleep,” you cut off. You grin at the frustration in his face. “How about you?”

“What about me?” He furrows his brow in confusion.

“Did you feel something too?” There’s a flash of panic in his eyes.  _ Interesting _ . “When I played?”

The panic leaves. “Oh. Well I must say you’re quite good. I’m determined to find the source of it.” He presses his mouth into a thin line. “I’ll see you later.”

He turns around and practically stomps out into the night.


	7. Sinnerman

You spend your time split between the clubs of the Devildom, Simeon, Asmo, and the clubs for human ghosts. It’s a nice sort of busy. Your skills are only improving, including on the piano. Your performance the upcoming evening is particularly important. You’ve heard that Diavolo himself is interested in hearing you play. And as far as Asmo is concerned, that’s Lucifer’s boyfriend. You find the situation amusing, especially since Lucifer keeps popping up where you are. 

Each time you play for a crowd of humans, giving them glimpses into the life on Earth they wanted to have or never had, and emotions they hadn’t been allowed to feel for decades or centuries - there is a small headache that builds up. It’s a balloon fit to burst, but you can’t figure out what the cure is. By the time you sit down to figure it out, the sensation has passed.

There’s a brief knock on your door, and when you open it you find that there’s a garment box on the floor, plain white with a thick red ribbon tied around it in a bow. Curious, you drop it on your bed and open it. Inside was a pretty red dress. A bit short, even for you, but you could dress it down with a pair of lace up boots and one of your hats. The material is buttery in your fingers and the red looks fantastic on dark brown.

_For my beautiful starlet._

_Asmo._

It’s a sweet gesture and you appreciate it. Asmo was planning on going with Solomon to the event, a fact that didn’t bother you as much it should. No one could really keep up with a libido like Asmo’s. So it was fine. Especially when you knew Simeon would be there for only you. Asmo’s affection manifested in very different ways.

All the Devildom's elite are there for your performance and Diavolo's birthday celebration. In the green room you see a beautiful sunflower left for you from Simeon. Your heart does a few tumbles and you smile at it.

On stage you smile at the audience. Tonight is special so you also had a grand piano wheeled out on stage. You still had tricks up your sleeve. Lucifer rolls his eyes at you and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from throwing an amp at him. At least Diavolo is next to him, a handsome man who's golden eyes are intrigued by your skill.

But you see all his brothers, even the ones you're not too familiar with. At one table you see Asmo, Solomon, and Simeon.

You smile to yourself at the thought of Simeon as you tune and step to the microphone.

You work your way through blues standards - the stuff you know everyone wants to hear. You play some original stuff too - but you're careful and reserved enough. 

The arpeggios fly from your hands rapidly, your fingers dancing expertly along the piano keys. It's a different sort of satisfaction than the guitar, but you revel in the physical sensation, knowing you're sending hammers down to strings that reverberate through the open lid to people. A thousand different motions that happen instantaneously. 

Your left foot is by a kickstand so you can add a bass drum or cymbal to your song. For now it hovers even as your right foot works the pedals of the piano. You're glad you had the foresight to pile your heavy box braids into a giant bun on your head, a fine sheen of sweat has built up. 

Even with the glare of light you can see Diavolo and Lucifer captivated. Diavolo looks in open admiration and appreciation. Lucifer looks in shock. Your eyes find Simeon, who has a beautiful smile on his face as he watches you. The song is fast - almost frantic. It's a shift from the lazy and drawn out way you typically perform. You lean in towards the microphone. 

"Oh, sinnerman, where you gonna run to? Sinnerman where you gonna run to? Where you gonna run to? All on that day." The quick arpeggios are accented by bass motifs in your left hand, punching through the gallop-like tune.

You sing with a viciousness that surprises you. If music had a taste this one would be blood to you. Your own pouring into the rhythm and filling your mouth. It spills out in song. 

"So I run to the river / It was bleedin', I run to the sea / It was bleedin', I run to the sea / It was bleedin', all on that day.

"So I run to the river / It was boilin', I run to the sea / It was boilin', I run to the sea / It was boilin', all on that day."

You look at Simeon again - he's entranced. At the same table are Asmo and Solomon and they seem equally spellbound. You weave your song but it is not an invitation like your performances normally are. It's a bitter tale. It's a warning.

"So I run to the Lord / Please hide me, Lord / Don't you see me prayin'? / Don't you see me down here prayin'?

But the Lord said / Go to the Devil, the Lord said / Go to the Devil / He said go to the Devil / All on that day."

You're singing with your chest, and your voice could have easily carried without the microphone. But you lift slightly out your seat as the tension builds in the words and your throat. You've only given them a taste of what you can do.

"So I ran to the Devil / He was waitin', I ran to the Devil / He was waitin', ran to the Devil / He was waitin', all on that day," you sing. The unrelenting music continues on, and you add depth with the bass drum as well. For the briefest of moments you lock eyes with Lucifer. He looks pale.

"And I cried power," you repeat the mantra of the song so loud, so clear, you think all of the Devildom could probably hear you. This song is only for you. A threat. You are not to be mocked. To be belittled. You have a real power and the familiar pressure builds in your head. Something inside ready to be released.

You tear your way through the rest of the song, not backing away. When you give the final slam of the chord on the piano, your breathing is ragged and you slouch over it, tears in the corner of your eyes. 

You have never performed like that before. You don't know if you ever will again. But it's worth it when you finally stand up to bow and the demons in front of you burst into thunderous applause - including the Demon Lord himself. You leave the stage, resisting the temptation to turn back around.

You're lightheaded as you make your way to the green room. Every part of your body is hot and your hands are shaking. You go out the side entrance to get some cool air. People will expect you in the reception area soon but they can wait five minutes. 

You open your eyes at the sound of foot steps. You're surprised to see none other than Lucifer approach you.

"I don't want to hear your conspiracy theories," you bite out. But instead of being his usual antagonistic self he walks right up to you, and in a single second, puts his mouth on yours.

His kiss is consuming and demanding. But you find yourself kissing him back, biting his lower lip when he gets too domineering. He responds by grabbing your hands and pinning them to the wall. His body is flush against yours and you can tell he's hard. The impressive length of his erection is against your thigh. 

This time when he pulls away he whips you around so fast you barely register he's pushed your stomach against the wall and is grinding against you hard. Heat is building between your legs and you arch your back so he's grinding right against your ass. You meet his every messy thrust and he keeps your arms against the wall, gloved fingers intertwined with yours. 

He finally seizes and lets out a long groan. His grip on your hand relaxes and you turn to face him. His dark eyes are full of lust and his bottom lip appears swollen. You tug on the waist band of his pants and reach a hand down. He flinches as you give his cock a not-so-gentle squeeze from base to tip. He's come all in his pants. You scoop some on your fingers before wiping it on the front of his black shirt. Then you wordlessly go back into the green room.

You're completely wet now, and irritated Lucifer got his rocks off and you didn't. But there was a power in it too. Lucifer lost control first. And despite all he said, he wanted to be with you physically.

You squeeze your thighs together and make your way out to the reception. 

Everyone wants to shake your hand and congratulate you, kissing your cheek. Asmo waits on the side but you can see how thrilled he is. Solomon looks at you curiously but you don't pay him mind. Especially when Simeon greets you and pulls you into a hug.

"I'm honored I exist in a time where I get to experience the music you make," he says softly in your ear. You melt.

Once the crowd abates you're handed a glass of wine by none other than Diavolo himself.

"I thought the stories of your talent had been exaggerated but I'm glad to find it was all true. I felt everything so human."

"Then I did my job as a performer," you reply. You see an irritated looking Lucifer looking on so you reach forward and wrap your arms around Diavolo in a hug. "Happy birthday, Lord Diavolo." You notice Lucifer has changed his shirt.

You're then whisked away by your lovers to enjoy the revelry. The Devildom knows how to throw a party.

You're drunk and happy, several cups in of devil honey wine. When you sit down to finally eat some food while Simeon is talking to others across the room, Asmo sits next to you and nuzzles your cheek. You feel fuzzy and very turned on by the Demon who can't keep his hands off you for the entire dinner.

Asmo reaches under the table and you spread your legs apart. You feel him reach his hand to your knee and kneads, making his way up to the apex. You brace your head with your hands, trying not to obviously be biting down on it. He cups your pubic mound before massaging your clit over your underwear.

It's painful how turned on you are, surrounded by so many people. Unable to jump on his dick right there. But he soon moves his hand under your panties and you lean forward and shift so he can angle better. 

He plays with your clit, rolling it between his index and middle finger, before sliding both of them down to your now soaking hole. He plays around with you, until he finally settles on a rhythm. He moves his fingers in and out of you, rubbing your clit with each inward thrust. You bite your hand hard to keep from crying out. Lucifer and Simeon are both watching you. You focus on the latter and his beautiful blue eyes.

The thought of Simeon and the beautiful brown expanse of his body, naked underneath you, urges you to grind your hips to meet Asmo's hand. He places more direct pressure on your clit and pumps faster until you buckle forward, burying your head in the table. You couldn't have been more obvious. But it was loud and you are so happy to get relief you don't care.

After the food, you spend the night sated, and sitting on Asmo or Simeon's lap, often draped over both of them. Simeon leaned down to kiss you and Asmo's hand traced on your thighs. Lucifer occasionally stole glances, particularly when Asmo's hand dipped into the front of your shirt. Lucifer shifts as Asmo plays with your nipple. The brothers seem largely use to this behavior from him.

You end up back in Simeon's room with Asmo in tow. You suck off Asmo before fucking Simeon, on all fours while he moves in and out of you from behind. You fall asleep cuddling the two of them.

Asmo is gone by the time you wake up and you spend a lazy morning with Simeon. You rest your head on his chest as you two talk. .

"How long are you planning to stay here?" Simeon asks. "In the Devildom?"

You're not entirely sure. You've never been one to be tied down. So you turn it back on him. "What about you? Your exchange year will end soon then you can turn into a giant flaming wheel of eyes and return to the Celestial realm." You chuckle. 

"Maybe I'll have to suggest an exchange program to Michael," he teases. "You'll be the first candidate."

"Might be fun to do a duet with Gabriel," you joke. "Tootin' on his trumpet."

Simeon scrunches his face. "Is that… a euphemism?" 

You throw your head back as you laugh uncontrollably. "No my darling. You're the only angel for me." You lean up to catch his rosebud lips in your own. You finally force yourself to get up and throw on a dress you left at Simeon's earlier that week. It had clearly been washed in your absence and you're touched at his thoughtfulness.

You head to that day's gig. A quiet neighborhood of human ghosts with a tiny corner you can play in. As usual with human establishments you have them pay you in a drink and food, but first you set your stool up, still warm from Simeon's touch. 

You decide you're going to sing some original songs instead. You feel like springtime, something hopeful blooming after the soul-baring teeth-gnashing performance before. Now you evoke the visions of lovers caresses and sensitive skin, of soft petals emerging from their winter hideout.

The listeners feel this love with you - you see them swaying and becoming misty eyed. They look almost solid to you now. If it's a bad thing you don't mind - they bring more vibrancy and color to the underworld. Their array of skin and features and imperfections are lovely amidst the cold perfection of the demons around them.

You finish and dive into the pub fare laid out, thanking the humans that come up to talk about your performance and how things were up on Earth when you left. 

You notice there's a woman hanging back. She is absolutely stunning. She has medium brown skin and freckles, with loose curly hair that goes down to her shoulders and dark brown eyes. When the crowd around you has thinner out you smile at her and she approaches you. She is stunning and you straighten up a bit.

"Hello beautiful," you say.

"It's you," she says. Her eyes are bright with tears. "Please remember. I knew you would find your way back."

She brushes a hand on your cheek and it's so familiar it squeezes your chest. "Who are you?" You ask. "Who do you think I am?"

She leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your lip. You thrill at the feeling and before you know it she pushes a little deeper. You place a hand on her waist for the briefest of moments before she pulls back. As you look at her eyes the pressure in your head becomes unbearable. You squeeze your eyes shut and grip your head, a groan escaping your lips until it bursts.

And then.

You remember.

 _Everything_.


	8. Ramblin' On My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sub!Luci here hope that's your thing.

* * *

You've had a lot of names.

That's the first thing you really focus on.

But you had a name before all the others.

_Orpheus._

And before the Greeks gave their names to gods - and names changed - a demon has seen you with your lover, Eurydice. He had seen you, a supple young man in love, with golden brown skin and coily terracotta hair, had watched the curve of your lips as you sang to her.

She had died after that.

And when you found her again in his world, he took your sight and your hearing and cruelly sent you home.

You turned around.

"I turned," you whisper. 

"You did," she replies.

Distraught and wandering alone on the earth you remember the silver haired wizard. There was a deal made, but no crossroads. You were simply reborn over and over again. You would never remember unless you succeeded - the price of the curse.

Your gift was more prominent in some lifetimes than others. But this was the one where you made your way to the underworld. Hell. Devildom. They have always been the same.

Names change.

"Orpheus," she says. "This looks good on you. But I'd recognize you no matter your face." She hugs you tight.

You're shell shocked, your heart racing. Hades had been a name then. But this was none other than Lucifer. You had reminded him of Diavolo, you think. With a darker complexion and a gift for song. The sunlight on your skin. See one thing the stories had gotten wrong - he would stalk the human world as a peacock then. Not a swan.

You clutch your chest as you focus on the important details. Where it began. Too many other lives intrude, painfully. Families, loss, death, careers, sometimes you died as a teenager, sometimes you died surrounded by loved ones. The only constant was the music inside you. 

“My mother was a muse,” you say. You test the words out loud. “That’s why.” The choir of angels under Gabriel. That’s right. There was nothing celestial about you - you were simply carved into creation weren’t you? You can’t be entirely too sure. You were music. The hand of a muse had plucked your heart song from the world. Then your mother fashioned your limbs and your flesh and soul until it took a life of its own.

"Yes," she says. Eurydice. She is a shell of herself. An echo of the woman you'd held in your arms and cherished. "You remember."

It was like everything inside you was unmade and reforming and too noisy. You were losing the tune. The melody of your existence. So you focused on your first name.

Orpheus.

Orpheus.

Orpheus _and Eurydice._

"People have written songs about us," you say. "Myths. Musicals. Operas." The enduring tragedy. Passed for centuries, that was how tragic it had been. But none of them really knew what happened after. 

"I am almost nothing now," she says. And you can see it. How many millenia had it been? All those lives you lived above. "But that's okay," she whispers. "You came."

You hug her fiercely and insist she comes back with you. But she has already started to fade again, less solid than a moment ago. She is a very old ghost and there is not much of her. Not anymore. 

That night in your own bed, you close your eyes, anger burning inside you. How dare he meddle in human lives and affairs. To what? Bring you down to the Devildom? In the hopes of being his lover? It didn't make sense now but it made sense then. He set you up to fail and it hurts. You quickly shower and change into a new outfit. You find a lacy white thing Asmo gave you because it stands out against your dark skin, and tie a coat on top.

It's the middle of the night but when you walk to Lucifer's room and knock he answers it almost immediately.

In a single motion you open your coat. It has the desired effect and he pulls you into the room and leans forward to kiss you. You place a finger in front of his lips. "You will do everything I tell you to," you say. "And if you don't I will bite your dick off."

Lucifer stills and nods. You go to his desk and push everything off of it. An ink bottle spills onto the carpet and you raise an eyebrow at him, challenging him to say something. But instead he is looking at you, chest heaving and eyes dilated. Good.

You turn around and bend over his desk to give a show, the garter strap creating a groove in your ass cheeks. When you finish moving everything aside you turn around and sit on it, legs spread wide. 

"Take off your clothes," you order. He does so obediently. Even before he's taken off his pants you can see his erection. Just seeing you like this made him hard. That would make this all easier. You take your time looking him up and down. He has a fit body, like all the demons down here did. There were varying levels of abs but it almost got tiring. So different from the softness of your own body, and the wide hips and thighs they dug their fingers into while moaning your name.

The air is electric, but there’s not a sound except his heavy breathing and the crackle of fire. You study him in a detached manner. There’s so much power in this moment. Despite everything he did to you - the ghosts of your lives whispering in your ear - you had him around your hand. “Get on your knees,” you order. 

There’s hesitation, and you go to stand up. “Fine, I’ll be on my way.”

“No,” he said, reaching a hand out. He slowly kneels on the floor. It would be a beautiful sight if the sorrow inside of you wasn’t hardening into something akin to hatred. You needed to feel what it was like to have his pleasure, his life at your disposal. “Please,” he whispers. 

You stand, but you leave your coat discarded. You walk up to him and run your finger along his face before running through his hair. You grip it tight, and his mouth falls open at the pain. His back arches as you tip his head back, studying his cheekbones and the planes of his face. You know he’s a demon likened to a God. He could throw you against the wall and kill you with his pinky finger if he deigned to. Instead he let you roughly turn his face this way and that.

“You’re that ready for me?” you tease, the tip of his cock dewey. “I’ve barely even touched you.” Your fingers are tight against his back, the weight of him leaning on your arm, he’s off balance. He wants you to throw him off balance. “Why?”

He swallows hard. Are his eyes filled with _admiration?_ Of all things? “There’s something about you. I wish I knew what it was so I could kill the desire in me.” 

He doesn’t know who you are either. Good. You not-so-gently push him so his head is against the floor. The muscles in his thighs strain, bent back on his knees. You look at his upright cock dismissively and place a foot on either side of him, walking up. You go down to your own knees by his chest. Against your better judgment, having Lucifer Morningstar himself helpless beneath you turned you on. 

“You’re going to eat me out,” you say. He nods, and you reach a hand down, moving your underwear to the side, and lowering onto his face. He immediately sets on you. You allow him the courtesy of an inch or two to get started, before letting more of your weight onto him, and then all of it. He’d figure out how to breathe. 

His tongue moves against your dripping slit, hot and wet.He licks from your core to your clit in long motions. That was the thing about these demons - tongues seemed to be extra strong. You begin to pant and let out a low moan in spite of yourself. His hands grip the sides of your thighs tight. He pushes you down harder against his mouth, seeming determined to taste as deep inside you as possible, only coming back up to add insistent pressure to your clit.

Pleasure ramps up inside you and you reach down to grab his hair again, pulling as you grind and groan out your orgasm on his mouth. He licks greedily at you, until you lift up out of his reach. You can see your own lubrication smothered across his face, sticking to his skin. His hair is a mess and his color his high. He almost looks beautiful here. You lean back and settle on his chest, slowly grinding so he can feel your wetness there.

“Good boy,” you say condescendingly. “Now if you want me to fuck you, you better tell me where you keep it.”

He looks away, looking annoyed. For the briefest moment, you think he’ll tell you to leave and that your instincts weren’t correct. But instead he says. “May I stand up?”

You shove yourself off of him and he stands up, looking at you. He goes to a dresser where he pulls out a strap and dildo. _Knew it,_ you think. “Go wait on the bed,” you say, waving him off as you put it on. You admire the way he dutifully goes and sits while you adjust the harness and make sure the dildo is secured. It’s flesh colored, you note. A tan light brown similar to Diavolo’s skin tone. To your original one. 

You dutifully pump some lube into your hand and stroke the dildo, looking at him. He sat on the edge of the bed and you walked up to him. You grip the back of his head and pull it to one of your breasts, where he sets on the nipple hungrily. You sigh in pleasure as he does so, and forcefully move his head to the other one when you decide it’s time. After you feel satisfied with the attention you push him flat against the bed.

“Is this the one you use on yourself?” You ask, tracing a lubed finger around his anus before sliding it in. “I’ll fuck you the way you want me too, but you don’t deserve it,” you say. 

“I know,” he says, his voice thick. His chest hitches when you slide a second finger in and pump your fingers in and out of him

When he's loosened around your fingers you withdraw them and position the toy at his entrance. It's a tight fit but he lets it in with relative ease. You put it in flush to the hilt and sit there for a moment. You lean forward and wrap your fingers around his neck leaning in to kiss him. It was a gentle start that soon became brutal, full of hungry bites. You tighten your fingers around his neck, cutting off enough circulation to make him dizzy. He moans in your mouth as your hips make the thick length inside him shift.

Satisfied at the slightly hazy look in his eyes, you lean back and begin to fuck Lucifer. You pull out only a few inches at first but then pick up the pace, your hips slamming against his rear as you pull out almost to the tip and back in. You keep bent over enough to keep pressure on his neck.

The first moan that comes out of him seems to be a shock to Lucifer himself, from deep in his chest. Then it becomes an insistent response to you moving in and out of him. 

"Touch yourself," you order him. "And look at me."

His pants get louder as a hand shoots to his cock and begins to move up and down. "If you want to come you have to tell me my name," you say, grunting as you fuck him harder. He can take it.

He wails out your newest name.

"No," you say, your voice nearly a growl. "The first name I had."

He looks confused at first. He really sees you for the first time, even with your brutal thrusts. "If you want to come you have to remember me."

"I'm sorry," he moans. He looks fit to burst but you won't stop.

"I am made of song," you say.

His eyes fly to yours. Through the wheezing breath and pleasure he finally sees. "Orpheus!" He cries out, before he comes onto his own chest, more than you thought could be possible. You pull out of him. 

Unhooking the harness you toss the set onto Lucifer on the bed. 

"Wait -" he calls out. He sits up and immediately keels over. You grab your coat and head to the door. "Please."

You pause at the door. But you open at walk out, letting it close behind you. Simeon would be waiting for you.

You do not turn back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more! Hope you've been enjoying so far.


	9. All Songs Must End

Simeon looks as surprised as you feel at the turn of events. He spends the night awake and holding you, as you untangle different stories of your life. "You should talk to Solomon," he says gently. "Sounds like he created your curse. He could likely lift it." You think back to the pale man. He was friends with both Simeon and Asmo. Did he know? Had he known who you were this whole time?

“I can’t believe he did that to me,” you whisper. The two of you are sitting in his large tub, and you’re grateful the Devildom seems to have a penchant for giant clawfoot beasts that could hold the two of you together. He moved the warm water over your skin, dripping down your shoulder. He lightly kisses the back of your shoulder. “I can’t believe he ruined my life like that.”

“He is Lucifer Morningstar,” Simeon says. “He tore the Celestial Realm in two. I don’t think people quite remember that. He had been the most favored of us all up above.”

“As above so below,” you murmur. He was the favored one here too in the Devildom. 

“You know,” Simeon says. His voice has an unusual quality to it. Quieter. Hesitant. “You’re not human. Not really.”

“I know,” you joke lightly. “I’m still processing it.” A song taken from the heart of the world and creation. Molded into something new. I could feel it under my skin, now that I knew what I was looking for. It was why the melodies and lyrics came so easy for me. It was a part of the world I was attuned to. 

“That means you’re not beholden to some laws of the human realm,” he says. His voice is almost a whisper, warm against the back of your ear. “It means you could come to the Celestial Realm without a second thought.”

You blink. Something you hadn’t even considered. “But Eurydice -”

“Will unravel soon,” he says. “Unmade. All human souls do that, when they’ve been here long enough.” You sigh as Simeon wraps his arms around the back of you. “Haven’t you been among them enough?”

The weight of the question settles on you as he runs his hands over you softly. Although you remember her as your great love - you had loved a hundred times since. And you are satisfied knowing that you found her once more. That you held power over Lucifer. Made him beg. “I’ll think about it,” is all you can say.

That night, Simeon turns to his angel form and he is  _ glorious _ . Six wings of the Seraphim, seeming to glow like heaven itself. The halos in his eyes burned bright, casting shadows over the planes of his body. Fully nude in front of you, his beauty distracted you even as he made love to you. The rustle of feathers mixed with your cries, his fingers tangled in your hair.

In the morning you go back to Asmo’s room. You recount your discovery to him, and although he listens, you can feel he is more interested in diving between your legs. You let him, because he is beautiful and an insatiable lover, but you know it is not what you need. 

* * * * *

Two months later you’re back on the human plane. You stayed with Eurydice until she - as Simeon described it - was unmade. She stayed in the room you shared with Simeon, giving her approval. She wanted you to live. And Solomon lifted the spell he’d done a millenia ago. You don’t ask for more information from him. You are ready to leave the past behind.

A decade passes on. You give your love, your music, freely. 

And then one day - you go back to the Bayou. It’s a mirror of the one that day in the garden, where Simeon lay you on your back. So you decide to sleep. Your last sleep.

And when you wake, the sun shines extra bright through the tree. Sitting beside you is Simeon, a smile on his face. “Hello love,” he says. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Hello beautiful,” you say back, before pulling him into the softest kiss in the heavens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading along! Kudos and comments always appreciated if you have them. Feel free to also let me know here or on tumblr (ask box open!) if you have anything you'd like to see. Subscribe to my fics if you're interested in the upcoming Halloween-themed one I'll begin posting next week. xoxo


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